to respond.
“No.”
Three nights later, Elijah fell from the chair in the middle of dinner. The blow echoed dry on the floor. Clara ran to him. He was convulsing in pain, holding on to his head. She brought a lamp to her face, carefully removed her hair and looked into the inflamed ear. What he saw froze his blood.
There was something there.
Something dark.
Something alive.
He moved.
Clara backed up for a moment, with her heart about to explode, and then took air like the one who throws herself into the void. He prepared hot water, fine sewing and alcohol tweezers. Elijah, pale and sweaty, looked at her with distrust and fear. She wrote with a firm hand:
“There’s something inside your ear. Let me get it out.”
He denied with violence. He took the notebook from him and wrote:
“It’s dangerous.”
Clara took the pencil and